Fate That Befell Us
by Beckon
Summary: "I will marry you one day," she spoke, "- but not without a title of my own."


Mileena stretched out against the furs underneath her, feeling the conditioned rug against her bare skin as she pulled the muscles in her back- listening to the satisfying pop that followed soon after.

A subtle noise that let her know she had been asleep, curled up in the fur pelts for a little too long.

Rolling onto her stomach, she felt a cool breeze grace the skin that had slipped out from beneath the quilted blanket on top.

Outworld was a hellpit when the sun was out, drying and burning everything in its sight.

But the temperatures were quick to drop once it settled back on the horizon.

Nighttime offered a cooling relief to the overwhelming and stifling heat, but only for a few hours at best- before it turned into an unbearable chill that would force most Outworld creatures back into their homes.

And the cold air that blew in through the tent let her know just what time it was.

She had asked her father that morning if she could spend time with his Tarkatan army; she was looking to learn and train with their warriors for his upcoming siege across the Golden Desert. Of course, Mileena never specified just how much time she would be spending with the army, nor did her father ever really allow her to fight in any of his battlefield skirmishes.

He preferred her to stay on the palace grounds.

And occasionally, he allowed her to ensure that those who came to oppose him did not leave those same grounds.

Neither points seemed to cross the Emperor's mind as he gave her the pass to travel- alerting his Tarkatan Generals of her arrival, as well as allowing her to take his Tarkatan guards as escorts.

Pushing up onto her forearms, Mileena stretched once more, working out her shoulders, before she looked over at her half-slumbering companion. She watched as he lazily scratched at his bared chest, scratching at the painted war scars that currently decorated his body; they were always up to change after any given battle. The war scars were interesting to look at and even more interesting to feel underneath her touch.

They had provided her with plenty of entertainment just hours before.

Settling her head into one palm, Mileena watched as Baraka moved to scratch at his face now- fingers picking lightly at his exposed teeth.

She reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder, still feeling the lingering warmth on his skin despite the dropping temperatures outside. Then again, he was always hot-skinned, as though he absorbed the heat throughout the day and was able to hold on to it at night to keep himself warm. Not that he really needed to.

While the Tarkatan camps were less than... elegant, they were still practical- and provided only what the tribe needed to survive.

The palace was supplied with endless silk sheets, blankets, pillows, anything that one might want rather than need. And it was easy to get spoiled by the boundless supplies that awaited at one's fingertips.

But here, the tribe preferred to make their own bedding.

They preferred to take what was provided from the wilderness, using Tigore hides, pelt furs from the mange dogs, and the occasional leather stripped from the wild horses to make what they needed. There was also the occasional spun cotton that was used to make quilts, which were then stuffed with loose filler to give them weight and warmth.

To many, it might've seemed barbaric and backwards.

But there was a certain appeal in being able to wrap one's self up in a skinned rug that had been conditioned and treated to keep the fur soft.

And considering Baraka's standing amongst the tribe, there was no lack of pelts and furs to be had in his possession.

Mileena traced circles against his skin with her fingertips before she toyed with the bone spikes that protruded from his shoulders. She had witnessed him dislodge the spikes just a few days before, shooting them through the soft facial cavities of two opponents in the Koliseum; she was a little surprised that the bone had already regrown in such a short amount of time.

She heard Baraka give a huffed breath, clicking the bones in his jaw, before he moved a hand to cover hers.

And the subtle squeeze that followed soon after was enough to bring a tired smile to her lips.

Such a docile creature in the lingering night, nestled in the furs and quilts of his own tent.

Sometimes it was hard to believe that such a still being could be capable of the titles that were bestowed upon his name.

_King of the Kuatan._

_Monster of the Steppes._

_Champion of Tarkata._

_Pride of Tarkata._

_Victor of Seven Tribes._

_Pillager of the High Plains._

There was no surprise as to why he was one of the Emperor's favorite Champions, and perhaps his most successful General at that- out numbering and out pacing the Shokans and Centaurs by dozens of easy body counts on the battlefield and in the koliseum.

Mileena had always figured that it was his battle record that had influenced her own creation to be made with the blood of his kind; that had influenced her father to seek out a perfect killing machine to raise under his own guidance.

To which she fit his expectations flawlessly.

Still, being here, being around the Tarkatans of her partial kind never failed to bring forth an internal debate.

When she was at the palace, when she stayed with Kitana and Jade, she wanted to be like them. She wanted to be an Edenian in grace and in show; she fit the part perfectly in some aspects, easily able to flaunt her good looks and body, easily able to convince anyone that she was no different than her sisters.

But when she was with Baraka, when she was with his tribe, Mileena felt her blood urge to be like his.

Animalistic and savage compared to the calm collectiveness that Kitana and Jade portrayed.

Sometimes it was difficult to find a balance between the two.

"The tribe talks about you."

Mileena rolled her eyes at the words. "Katarakt ka krat," she huffed, hearing him give a throaty laugh in response. "Let them talk."

"Prove yourself to them and they will accept you," Baraka spoke.

"I will when I see the need to," she replied. "Besides, they already accept me."

"They accept you as you are," he reminded, "- but not with me."

"And why should I seek out their acceptance?" Mileena pressed. "What good would it do for me? Is it not more for you and your standing amongst them."

"It is."

Once more, she huffed.

It seemed like no matter where she went, there was always someone judging her for what she was- as if she had been in control of her own creation. Shao Kahn favored her above all others, having requested for her creation in the first place, and he was not light on people who tried to disrespect her. He had on more than one occasion killed someone on the spot for speaking against her, and had threatened all others in the room with the same fate should they even consider thinking the same thought.

There was no denying that she was the Emperor's favorite.

And perhaps now that was what was holding her back.

Having the Emperor hold her on such a pedestal made her valuable.

But Tarkatans cared little for valuables or possessions; they cared only for what was on the battlefield, for what someone's fighting prowess was like. And while she had done sparring matches with some, and skirmishes with others, she supposed she had not stepped onto the battlefield enough for them to deem her worthy enough to share a tent with their General.

After all, if the General was the most blood-thirsty amongst the tribe, it was to be expected that his consort would be the same.

Of course, the Tarkatans here were not aware of her actions on the palace grounds.

They weren't aware of the carnage she had spilled and eaten her way through in the middle of the night, drinking up the blood from those who had opposed the Emperor and then assumed they could just walk away.

Then again, many of species that her father held under his rule did not like the idea of having their royalty given to lesser figures.

There had been a blow up months before between the Shokan and the Emperor, with many assuming that the relationship between Prince Goro and Princess Kitana was not welcomed in their courts. Of course, the two were nothing more than friends- as they had been almost from the time they were both born. Kitana greatly valued Goro's friendship and allegiance; the young Shokan Prince had even been her temporary bodyguard before he had risen through the ranks to become Shang Tsung's personal Champion.

And of course, the blow up, as well as the tension that followed had devastated Kitana.

The woman spent weeks crying in her room.

She had always been a bit of a crybaby, but to have one's friendship skewed and trashed upon in an open court would be enough to damage anyone's tolerance.

Neither Goro nor Kitana had spoken to one another since.

Mileena watched as Baraka rolled onto his chest now, settling himself close to her, before he moved in closer still to rest his head against her shoulder. She heard him let out what might've been the equivalent of a purr, or at least as close as one could get from a man-eating cannibal- deep and rumbling from the back of his throat.

She pretended to not be amused- only to then feel the weight of his arm as he draped it across her back.

Eventually he pulled her in against him, forcing her to acknowledge him again.

Chuckling softly, Mileena moved her arm underneath him and cupped her hand against his jaw.

"I will marry you one day," she spoke, "- but not without a title of my own."

Baraka moved to tuck his head into the curve of her neck, breathing out a pool of warmth against her skin.

"Consort is a title."

She was certain he was teasing with her.

Lest he truly be that stupid.

Mileena scratched her nails against his cheek and heard him give a huffed chuckle in response. "I will not just be the General's wife, nor will I remain as just the Emperor's daughter."

"You will have your title," Baraka assured, "whatever it may be."

"Do you believe me capable?" she questioned.

"More so," he answered. "Whatever you seek will be yours."

She smiled at his response as she turned to brush her lips against his head.

"Do you say that because you are one of what I seek?" Mileena mused.

"It is possible."


End file.
